Curse of the Night Wolf by Paul Stewart

Author:Paul Stewart [Stewart, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780375891519
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2008-09-08T18:30:00+00:00

I turned to see two figures emerging from a rundown sail yard.

As they drew closer, I could see they had swordsticks of their own – one with a pewter hound’s-head pommel; the other with a wooden handle shaped like a beak.

‘Well, well, well,’ said the stockier of the two, stopping on the path just before me. ‘Look what we got ’ere, Ginger, me old cocklemonger.’

The red-headed one giggled half-wittedly.

I didn’t have time for this.

‘Skingle me, if it ain’t one of ’em tick-tock lads from the smoky.’ The stocky lad grinned. ‘Pockets bulging wiv notes ’n’ dockets, ’n’ all sorts of sparklers.’

Ginger stopped giggling just long enough to ask, ‘Fink ’e’s got summat for us, do you, Ned?’

‘Let’s ask ’im.’ As Ned spoke – his voice soft yet menacing – the pair of them unsheathed their swords, which glinted in the low afternoon sun. ‘Fancy turning out them pockets, tick-tocker?’ he said.

I eyed them both coolly. I didn’t want a fight, yet it was beginning to look as though I had no choice in the matter.

‘No need for roustabouts, my dear ink-chins,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you sheathe up your slicers, I’ll sheathe up mine – and I’ll be on my way.’

Ned chuckled humourlessly. ‘’Ear that, Ginger? ’E don’t want no roustabout.’ His expression hardened. ‘We’ll see about that, milk-face.’

Suddenly, as one, the pair of them lunged towards me, the tips of their swords aimed at my chest. With a resounding clash, I parried away both swords, stepped sharply to one side and, while the pair of them were momentarily off balance, launched an attack of my own.

Ginger didn’t see me coming – until it was too late. He cried out with pain as the tip of my sword sliced through the sleeve of his oilskin slicker and drew blood. Howling, he fell to the ground. Ned was going to be more of a problem. Not only had his tough life left him hard as horse-tacks, but somewhere along the line he’d learned how to handle a sword. Sure enough, a moment later he lunged again.

It was a fierce yet reckless blow. I parried it away easily enough, but the blow jarred through my arm, sending darts of pain through the half-healed burn. Seeing my wince of pain, Ned let out a triumphant howl and launched a brutal attack, raining down blow after blow. I suspected that this was how he usually won his sword fights, battering his opponents into submission.

It wouldn’t work with me.

Three, four, five times I parried his swinging blows, prodding him back with thrusts of my own each time. I didn’t want to hurt him – but then again, I needed to teach this East Bank bully a lesson. Behind me, I heard Ginger still squealing with pain. To hear his high-pitched shrieks, you’d have thought I’d sliced his arm clean off instead of merely pricking his skin. In front of me, Ned was just where I wanted him.

‘Waah!’ he cried out a moment later as his left foot stepped back to the very edge of the towpath.

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